


Will you bleed me out?

by sugarboat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Begging, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gross, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:19:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7344616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“AH AH AH,” Bill chastised. “No one does PROPER GROVELING lying on their SIDES, do they?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will you bleed me out?

His fingers, tipped with long and curving claws, pressed against Ford’s chest, gently; four pinpricks of pain, blossoming like ripples across the calm surface of a lake. The human’s breathing stuttered, became shallow and rapid. Slowly he applied more pressure, watched as Ford’s skin bent around his clawtips before breaking, inky blackness pushing inside, bright red droplets trembling and sliding out in sticky rivulets. Their progress was stopped by the man’s sternum, and Bill shoved against it, laughing as Ford quaked. His heart was beating so rapidly, just inches away.

The demon leaned more weight against his hand and dragged it downwards, feeling his talons chip into the bone beneath. Ford was practically writhing now, chest jerking even as his limbs were held fast. Paying no mind to his pet’s struggles, Bill continued his movements, eye rapt as flesh parted in his wake, skin splitting and warm, red blood rushing out. He stopped just above Ford’s bellybutton, grinning. Incoherent pleas were on the man’s trembling lips, were racing in the mortal’s mind.

Thoughtfully, Bill looked upwards, lifting his bloody hand close to his eye, allowing a thick tongue to worm its way out from his bottom eyelid and lave at the tacky fluid. As if he was humoring Ford’s begging words. The tendrils holding his pet steady dropped him at once, snaking back into the dark shadows they had crept from. Ford moaned as he hit the ground, hands instinctively running to his chest, trying to cover the long, gaping wound that stretched the length of his torso. The man rolled onto his side, his body curling in on itself.

“You WANT me to STOP, RIGHT?” Bill’s fingers stroked through Ford’s hair, gently, like he was comforting a dog about to be put down. His grip immediately tightened, pulling the man’s head back, forcing Ford to look at him. “Then you need to ASK a little NICER than THAT, DON’T YOU THINK?”

“B-Bill… please…”

“AH AH AH,” Bill chastised. “No one does PROPER GROVELING lying on their SIDES, do they?” The man’s fingers tightened against his own flesh, as if by force he could knit his skin back together. And there was that defiant glare Bill cherished so, that angry undercurrent flooding beneath fear and pain. Still, Ford’s grip slowly loosened, reluctant to leave his injuries exposed. 

His human was taking too long – Stanford wasn’t the one calling the shots here. Bill blinked, and the mottled, bruise-colored tongue he’d had coiling around his fingers was suddenly cut off, falling to the ground with a wet and heavy plop. Sixer flinched at the sound, body trying to curl tighter even as Bill was yanking his neck back. Wriggling across the ground like a maggot, Bill’s tongue licked against Ford’s face, drawing a startled – disgusted – noise from the man. And then it lunged forward, dove into the human’s opened chest, and Bill had to let go as Ford suddenly began thrashing, his six fingered hands desperately scrambling to grab onto the slippery organ.

It made a sickening squelching noise as it burrowed between the fascia of Sixer’s muscles. He had managed get his right hand around the slimy tongue, but it slithered between his fingers, sliding deeper inside him. Groaning, Ford felt his stomach heaving, slammed his eyes shut as he could feel the thing twisting and squirming inside him. Bill was laughing – always – the sound sharp and echoing in his head. The muscles of his abdomen twitched as the tongue roved beneath them.

“You know Fordsy, if I were YOU I’d pull my PATHETIC MEATSACK off the ground and start BEGGING FOR MY MISERABLE LIFE before MORE of THOSE THINGS crawled INSIDE ME!” As if reacting to the demon’s threat, the shadows surrounding Ford began to quiver, looping slug-like protrusions branching off of them. “But that’s JUST ME!” 

Those were apparently the magic words. Stanford pushed himself up into a sitting position, weight resting on his trembling arms. Every movement he made seemed to drive the organ inside him wild, the thing curling unnaturally around his insides. The sensations – or perhaps the blood loss – were making him dizzy, had him feeling almost disconnected from his tortured body. He shuffled onto his hands and knees, back hunched, fighting the urge to drive his hands into his own body and remove the invading tongue. Tried to ignore the way flailing and slick tendrils of shadows brushed against the skin of his knees, his hands.

When the mortal opened his eyes, he could see more of the hideous organs, winding around against each other. The entire floor was crawling with them, one wet and coiling mass. His body felt cold, so cold, shaking. Shock, some distant part of his mind whispered. Ford clenched his jaw shut, trying to will himself to form the words Bill wanted to hear. Trickles of blood dripped down from his chest, landing against the things beneath him with quiet patters. 

“Bill… Please stop,” the human whispered. Bill drifted down closer to the writhing ground, gaze fixed on the huddled form of his subject. The tentacle like projections had unwound from one another, were coiling around his limbs in lazy loops. Ford looked up through sweat soaked bangs, his voice disdainful. “I-I’m begging you.”

Laughing, delighted, Bill ruffled the human’s hair fondly - he could always count on Sixer to be amusing. Was all that disgust aimed at the demon, at the appendages twining and writhing up his arms and legs, or at himself? It appeared to be all three, and Bill was – not for the first – left in admiration at the depth and absurdity of human emotions. 

“Too LITTLE too LATE, Fordsy,” Bill replied. Watching the way the man’s face crumpled into despair and confusion was almost payment enough. It sent a shiver among his bricks, starting in a bottom corner and radiating upwards and outwards through his form. “But I SUPPOSE I can think up SOMETHING you could do!” 

The demon’s eye curved in a smile, enjoying the way Ford grit his teeth, unconsciously baring his teeth in a grimace. It was obvious that the man was trying to control his reactions, but he was failing spectacularly. Inside him – deep inside him, and writhing further inside him with every heartbeat – the worm-like tongue twitched violently, prompted Ford to gasp and grasp at his abdomen again. When his gaze met Bill’s again, there was nothing but burning hatred and contempt held within in his eyes. 

“Really? What – _pray tell_ – should I be doing then, Bill?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from dripping off his words. Encouraging Bill’s vile actions could only end badly for him, but Ford was beyond giving any shits. Every nerve ending seemed to be screaming in pain, and his stomach roiled with every slick movement of the thing inside him, but it fanned the flames of his anger, made him want the demon to eat its words. 

“Open UP, and ask – BEG – me for MORE!”

Ford stared, uncomprehendingly, at once unsure of what his former muse wanted him to ask for and all too sure of what the request would be. His gaze flickered down to the writhing mass below him, and the leering grin that greeted him when he looked back up was enough to confirm that yes, Bill wanted exactly that. He was supposed to ask for what – more of those things burrowing inside him, infesting him? The thought alone was enough to make him gag. But if that was what he was supposed to be begging for, then what was the alternative he was being punished with?

Ford was almost afraid to find out.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, not literally, but disgustingly apt. Should he open himself up to untold punishment, or embrace a sensation he was already familiar with? Coiling around his limbs, wet and dripping, the tendrils seemed to be in a frenzy, eager to tunnel inside him. The back of his throat burned, as though he were on the verge of retching or already had. He hunched over again, watching the way his arms trembled, the way fat droplets of his blood splattered against the slimy surface of the tentacles roiling beneath him. 

“I…” he began, his face hidden from Bill’s view by his bent position. Was Ford going to refuse, beg for mercy? Or would he actually comply? The demon was flexible, he could work with any of the above and more. Was eager, in fact, to see what the mortal would choose. “Please, Bill… Give me… more.”

Oh, that was delicious – if he had a mouth, it would be watering; if he had teeth, they would be aching to be driven into his human’s flesh. Well, there was time and more enough for that! In the meantime, he may as well give the man what he was asking so politely for. And truly, that felt like an accomplishment; given how uncivilized and wrathful Ford could be. In unconscious mimicry, the tentacles grew bolder, twining up to the man’s hips, to his shoulders. 

“Awww, Fordsy, if you wanted MORE you could have just ASKED to BEGIN WITH!” His hand darted forward, captured Ford’s jaw in a bruising grip, applying pressure with fingers and thumb right to the delicate hinge. The man groaned but his mouth dropped open, his brows furrowed together, eyes shining with whatever pathetic human emotion he was feeling at the moment. Bill brought his other hand up, thrust three of his fingers into Ford’s mouth, curling them so his claws scored deep rivulets his pet’s tongue.

Ford’s whole body actually quaked as the demon’s fingers flicked against the back of his throat, one claw catching against his uvula before drawing back, dragging through the supple muscle of his tongue. A coughing, retching motion had his whole body clenching, prompting more blood to pour out of the open wound running down the center of his chest. He could feel blood, thicker and hotter than saliva, dribbling out of his mouth, brimming over his bottom lip to drip down his chin. The hand around his jaw clenched, painfully tight.

“Say ‘AH,’” Bill cooed, and abruptly tendrils had reared up like cobras about to strike, their tapered ends pointed at Ford’s mouth. And at once, they surged forward, one forcing its way between his lips first, halfway down his throat before another began to frantically shove at his mouth, pushing its way inside. There was a sharp pain in the corner of his lips – _was it tearing? was Bill ruining him? had he already ruined him?_ – and then it was flooding his mouth as well, its rubbery flesh between his teeth and desperately wriggling its way down his throat. 

The first one detached itself from the shadow it had spawned from, and Ford let out the most retched, muffled wail as he felt its tail end slurp inside his mouth, flailing as it traveled down his esophagus. Another soon joined the one that was still invading him, still thrusting deeper inside him. His fingers were clenching around the slick tendrils that made up the ground. More and more of them drove into the wound along his chest, coiling around his ribs, between his guts, wrapping around his spine.

Their intrusion was revolting - a corrupted and withering form of intimacy. His back was entirely bowed as he tried to pull himself away from the tendrils that rushed inside him, but still they came, stretching and searching. Almost constantly, whatever abdominal muscles he had left were tightening, his body wracking with heavy coughs. And above the white noise drone of his own frenzy and fear, he could hear Bill cackling, giggling, fucking losing his mind over the display Ford provided him.

With a snap of dark fingers, all of the agony abruptly ceased. The floor became cool, carefully selected tiles again, and Ford collapsed upon them. The wounds – along his chest, in his mouth – were whole again, his body none the worse for wear. But amid the ambient light, there was the pale glow of gold, scalding and bright in the corner of his vision. A rough smile broke out on his face.

“Well, Fordsy, what would you like to try next?”

The human could only quiver in anticipation.


End file.
